September: the boy who was born with blue eyes

September blue

this name I gave

and secretly called out to you

for as fast as I passed out

so you were born and passed out to strangers hands

who laid you in a crib with no hand or arms

no breasts

no blood warmth of flesh

against your skin only

a blanket of acrylic

fake comfort

and I know how you must have cried

for your tears were mine

our eyes tears of September Blues

each year like clockwork you bury deep within my skin

around in fetal curl the memory of you breaks my heart

September blue

I cry out the loudest of silent screams

as this month once again repeats itself

the ground i stand on caves in beneath

burying me into the deepest darkest pit

no sound or sight

I loose everything within me

I feel every tiny piece of my skin dissolve into nothing

I loose speech I cannot say a word

I have no words left to say

I cannot move

there is no light in this place

there is nothing but a gut wrenching stab

I scream inwards the pain of loss grief

stand in the deafening silence within me

where am I

where do you take me

i fear this is where i left you

my dear beautiful baby blue

September blue

Depression is the name they have given you

I shun this name

its like the colour of death bluer than blue

I shun next year

I know you will come

For three months my grief is a tidal wave of tears

with no where to go I choke on my mouthless face of empty words

I suffocate in the silence of my minds memory

September October November

the first letter of each month S O N

was this coincidence or fate

each year my son comes back to bury me alive

I cant blame him

I was his mother

and I passed out when he was born

what sort of mother does that

when I opened my eyes you were gone


J.J. Anderson's Blog

I’m sure a few of you have noticed that I’ve gotten off my ass and started posting once a week to this blog. Usually, my barren wasteland of a blog is updated every three months or so in a haphazard attempt to battle back with nonsense the virtual tumble weeds that plague my writing. But now, I’m back in school, and we’re required to post weekly; my assignments are the stones I throw to kill simultaneously my scholastic requirements and the few requests I receive for more blog entries. And now, we’ve been asked to include in our week’s entry a poll for you to take. First, I’d like you to read last week’s post here: and then, please be brutally honest:


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Did you know that the scientific name for a flying squirrel is “assapanick?” It’s pronounced exactly how…

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so I played for Papa

Just played to me this piece I did t know my father well n our relationship in older years was very difficult but I have memory of him when I was very young asking me to play for him a song on the piano Its the only time he ever as a young person gave showed me any interest so this touched me greatly thankQ x🐝

Tell Me About It

so I played for Papa, what do you want
me to play & Papa said
“Swan Lake Micki play
Swan Lake for me
don’t stop till I say”

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artificial visitations

A wonderful write many will connect to Loneliness Loss grief n such can be magnets to the strangers who call themselves friends The takers of the giving is such a hard punch when realisation of this hits you the sadness can often be like the weight of grief


sadness used to show up
unannounced and we’d sit up
until sunrise drinking
whatever was left in the house

I kept telling myself the next time
he appeared out of nowhere
I wouldn’t let him in
but of course that didn’t happen
and he continued to pretend
to be my friend

I told him I was thinking about buying
a brand new puppy
a black one I said
so I could learn how to keep him at bay
and teach him to protect me from
monsters like him

july two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

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best poetry blog in the cosmos

“A Rush of Cochineal– ”

Welcome, do enter
thanks for stopping by
(and whilst
we are on the topic:
how is Emily,
Miss Bone-Zero,
we all
haven’t heard from
her in such a
long time?

Ah yes, the crockery, well
I felt black was your colour
and the wine the
darkest Merlot I could
find as
such short notice
(always — I’m sure you
would agree
such limited time)

and now, the meal is over
and your carriage — or is
it limousine or
something edgier, more sporty?
nevertheless waiting

no time for goodbyes, just
that cold, steadying hand
(cold as
precious metal, slab of
elegant stone) and
my last
deepest thanks
for all that you
have done for me
all that you made
(where but for you
would there be
in a poem).

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My Mothers Dolls


wisps of hair
so fine
across my face
like laced cobwebs I brush them away
here in the attic found
what was once
my mothers dolls
wide eyed stares
hostages of time
tattered and old
spider webs
cover them
like fishnets

n all I hear is a distant warning
of my mothers voice
‘Don’t Touch
you’ll ruin them’
I leave them as she did me

Outside autumns fall
is all around me
I pick up a handful of leaves
to take with me
I don’t know why
I suddenly want to take them all
n start to cry
they’ll be cold and alone
now their tree has no use for them
so many
I give back what I took
their brothers n sisters
as I think of them
realising their mother is here
n she’ll nurture them
as mothers should

Would you like to fly The Fifth Dimension


this body

stretching out
and you know
those long blue grey days
swellings of red
n darkness of those night falls
with casts of clouds
a soft protection of cover
for blue is so sensitive


when things get heated
to a redness of the flesh
you carry such heavy dark bags

Oh sky sky
we are such thugs
and you carry it all above us
the hurts the cries
the love that turns to hate
that bruise
our lives
woman man child
creatures of sea n land
birds trees grass
all of this is us
a part of you
we float without thought
to what fires this You
the Sun
our Great Balloon
carrying life
so in our own sea
of waters
rivers lakes pools
we won’t drown
as our beautiful bell
rings the moon
with the burning sparks
day turns to night
a bonfire of stars
to navigate our darkness
with the tides
yet still after all this time
even the fish the coral this life
we are blind to the very births
being born
we think
in terms another world beneath
yet this is our mothers womb
poisoned by our refusal
to recognise
our very own lives existence
from your refusal to give up
on us
as we fight
spreading noxious
vile deathly disease
in starvation indifference
Our Ego of Religious faiths

or Darwin monkeys science  blind like mice

boxes of voice filed in systems beliefs we are taught

to punish n in the name of Gods we use Jesus as the rod to abuse
from image status
of a power
none of us with this will to survive

for wants will
Ignoring your very plight
to keep us safe
save us from ourselves
we look above and call the punches
here you lay naked
without blame
continue to sustain us
n we continue to abuse
calling your body
covered in scars n bruising